The Third Silvertongue
by singxyourxheartxout
Summary: Crossover with 7th Heaven and Inkheart. Hayden Camden, owned by me, reads her and her brother Matt into The Outsiders. Will they be able to get back to the '90s, or will they be forever stuck in 1966 Tulsa? Will they even WANT to go back?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know, it's been such a long time! Yes, I'm out with a new story, and you all probably think I'll delete it or forget about it again, but this time I've planned it, so I probably will finish this one. I've always loved 7th Heaven, Inkheart, and The Outsiders. That's why I've decided to combine the three into one story. This story will **_**only **_**be in The Outsiders category. Hope you like it!**

**Also, it gets way more into The Outsiders setting in chapter two.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, 7th Heaven, or Inkheart. I do own Hayden Camden.**

"Hayden!" Mom called. I was up in my room, reading. "Hayden, we want to talk to you!"

I sighed. They probably wanted to stop me from reading again. My parents were funny like that; they thought I spent too much time up in my room by myself. But really, I was just doing what I liked to do.

I felt like reading and writing were my passions. I would stay up in my room for hours on end writing a story I hoped to send in to get published, or reading the latest Nancy Drew. There was nothing else I liked better doing, and I was determined not to let my parents get in the way of it.

"Coming!" I yelled agitatedly. As I traipsed down the stairs, my brother Simon's dog, Happy, came barrelling into me. "Slow down, Happy!" I called after her as I picked myself up off the floor.

"Sit," Mom said sternly when I walked into the kitchen. I looked up at her with defiance in every line of my face. "Hayden, your father and I think you need to get out more."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked in a hurt voice, although I knew exactly what they meant.

"We think you spend too much time alone," Dad said, voicing my fears. "You bury yourself in books for hours, and you're always up in your room writing something."

"And what's the problem with that?" I spat. "I _like_ reading and writing. I don't understand what's so horrible about me doing what I like to do." The glare that I shot them was full of hurt and dislike, and I didn't regret a bit of it.

"You're just spending too much time up there," Mom reasoned in a gentle voice. "And that's why we've planned for you to spend the night this Friday at Grandpa's."

"I'm not going. You can't make me," I said automatically, quietly and angrily, and stormed upstairs.

Matt, my older brother, was waiting for me when I got to my room. Well, actually, it was _our _room; I had moved in with him when Ruthie had been born. Me and my brother got along okay, but that was only because we didn't talk much. I honestly didn't want much to do with Matt, and I didn't know exactly why. Maybe it was because he tried to be my parent more so than my brother.

"Hayden, come sit down," Matt said firmly, pointing at his bed, when I walked in.

"No," I said, going over to my bed. A book was sitting on it, of course; The Outsiders, one of my favorite books. "If this is about what Mom and Dad were mad about, I don't want to listen."

"Yeah, it is, and yeah, you're going to listen," he told me. "I'm sick and tired of watching you walk around with a book in your hands, or a pencil and that note book of yours everywhere."

"And you think I care?" I whipped around to face him, anger written all over my face. "I honestly don't give a darn what you want me to do with my books. Leave me alone." I stopped listening and turned my attention toward the book that was lying, half open, on my bed.

There was this thing about me; I had a fear of reading aloud. I'd never liked reading aloud that much. The reason was sort of shocking, but I couldn't help it.

I could read things in and out of books.

Yes, I know it's a strange gift, but once I read Inkheart, I realized that it wasn't uncommon. But what Mo and Meggie had to go through . . . it scared me out of my books for a while.

But now, I tossed my fear away and picked up the book. "_When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house--_" I read, but that was as far as I got.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the sidewalk of 1966 Tulsa, Oklahoma, with my brother beside me. "Hayden," he asked, sounding cautious and scared, "where are we?"

I stood up and looked around. The place was really run down; the houses' paint was peeling badly, the windows were cracked, everyone's front lawns looked like mostly dead weeds, and the fences were lined with barbed wire. There were no nice Mercedes or Grand Marquis here; everyone, it seemed, owned a Ford or an old, rusty Buick. "It looks like we're in greaser territory," I said finally.

"Where?" Matt said, confused. Of course--he hadn't read the book, so he couldn't have known anything about it.

"Tulsa, Matt," I said, turning to face him. "We're in the sixties."

And as I spun back around, I saw seven tall, tough-as-nails looking male figures walking toward us.

**Haha, I left you with a cliffy. There'll be a lot of those in this story, I think. Tell me if you liked it, please. I'll continue if so, if not I'll just delete it. Give me suggestions! I need to know how to improve.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys. Here's chapter two--the revised version! It's getting more into The Outsiders setting. No one reviewed on the first chapter, so I figured I better write a second one quick or someone would think I'm not in the right category.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

"Great, just great," Matt was complaining. "I don't even know how we got here." Man, was he a sourpuss. This was why I couldn't stand him as much as my other brother and sisters. He was always complaining about something, and nothing I did could change his attitude.

"Shut up, Matt," I snapped. I was trying to take in my surroundings and size this bunch up, and it wasn't easy with him ranting.

"How'd we get here, anyway?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

"I'll tell you later." I was getting a little worried. There were no weapons on either of us, and I didn't see anything I could substitute for one.

"Tell me now," Matt said in a hard voice. "I got here somehow, and you had something to do with it."

Just then, I realized that the people walking toward us were greasers. They had the greasy hair, the less-than-expensive-looking clothes, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, and the tough, cool expression you could only find on a greaser. Then I looked down at my own clothes; I realized that me and Matt looked more like socs than anything else. That just made me more scared.

"Hayden!" Matt was pestering me again.

I whipped around and stared him in the eye with a frightening expression. "Shut up, okay? Just shut up. I'll tell you after we get out of here." How could he not pay attention to those figures walking down the sidewalk?

"Hey, socs!" one of them yelled. _Oh, crap_, I thought. _We'll never get out of here alive._

They finally reached us. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I wasn't about to let them see that. No way was I going to let them think I was weak.

"What're you doing on our territory?" the same greaser said, his expression unreadable and his voice cool.

"I'm no soc," I said, not answering his question.

"You sure look like one," a blond-haired one said. _Sodapop,_ I thought absently. Of course. He was the only one with blond hair, besides Dally. But Dally was towheaded; white-blond. Soda had golden blond hair.

I didn't answer, but just looked at them with a blank face. I had been in plenty of fights before, what with wandering all over Glenoak and getting jumped every other time. But maybe this one wouldn't be so easy.

"You sure y'all aint, blondie?" the towheaded one--Dally--inquired mockingly. "You don't look like anything less."

"Look, we don't want any trouble," Matt said, stepping forward, in front of me.

"Take a look at Mr. Socy Boy over there, guys," the one I recognized to be Steve said. "He don't want trouble. How 'bout we show him how greasers deal with trouble?" In the book--The Outsiders--Steve had been an angry character, always losing his temper and getting into fights.

"Yeah, how 'bout you show us?" I spat, suddenly outspoken and outraged.

"Watch your mouth, kid," an older boy, about twenty, said. I guessed him to be Darry.

"You just make me," I growled. "You're not my parent, and I don't have to listen to you."

"But you do have to listen to _me_," Matt said, shoving me aside. "I'm older than you, I'm smarter than you, and I can take care of myself better than you. Let's just leave and try to find somewhere to stay."

"Yeah, like Buck's gonna let us stay at his place," I replied nastily.

"Yeah, like you'd even want to go to Buck's place," Soda said, overhearing us.

"Stay out of this," I spat at him.

"You wanna say that again?" an auburn-haired, young-looking one said. Ponyboy. He had this tough, angry expression on his face. Well, duh--Sodapop was his brother, so naturally he'd want to stick up for him.

"Let's get outta here," I muttered, and walked off.

Why did life have to be so difficult? If I'd known that we'd be read into the blasted book, I would have just thrown it across the room. Now I had to figure out how to get back to Glenoak, and I didn't have any idea how to. And what was worse, Inkheart hadn't been written during this time period, so I couldn't consult it as to how to get back. Oh, why did life have to _suck _so bad?

"Hayden!" Matt was calling. I didn't stop, because I knew he'd catch up to me soon enough. "Hayden, slow down. What happened? How'd we get here?" he asked, his hands on my shoulders, his voice gentle. I guess he was afraid I'd run away again.

"I can't tell you that, Matt," I answered simply.

"Why not?" he asked, more persistantly.

"Because you won't believe me." I knew this was true; Matt didn't care about fantasy or fiction. Anytime I tried to tell him about a murder mystery I'd read, he'd make up some excuse to get away from me; after a while, I quit trying.

"Just tell me, and I promise I'll try to understand." I doubted that very seriously, but then I took into consideration the circumstances. We _were _in 1966 Tulsa, and to my knowledge, that didn't happen very often. And he knew I had something to do with it--he'd said so earlier.

"You mean it?" I asked steadily, looking him straight in the eye.

"Yeah," he said, a warm smile creeping onto his face.

"All right," I said, taking a deep breath. "No one knows but me, but I have an ability."

"You have plenty of abilites, Hayden--" Matt began, but I cut him off.

"No. Not like this one." I paused, then looked up at the sky. "I can read things in and out of books."

All my brother did then was look at me with wide eyes, like he was asking me the question I had been dreading. "And yes, Matt, that's how we got here."

He pulled me into a bear hug and I held on tight, trying to stop the tears and finally giving up. Never had I been so homesick, frightened, and confused. But the way I was clinging to Matt and the way he was whispering to me made me think that maybe--just maybe--we could get through this.

**Here's chapter two, take two for all of you wonderful people who reviewed. I agree, the last version was a bit random. That's why I rewrote it. Hope you like it a lot better; I know I do!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey y'all. Here's chapter three. Hope you read the revised version of chapter two.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart (forgot to include that in the last chapter), or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

We walked along the streets of Tulsa for what seemed like forever. Greaser territory was even worse than what the book described; sure, there was the run-down-looking buildings, but the fights around the place were terrible. A guy got stabbed in his arm so deep in one that we passed that he couldn't pull the knife out. I was horrified, but all Matt did was pull me close and tell me to keep going.

There was the Dingo, the greaser hangout. I saw some guys arguing and pushing each other through the window, and a scuffle broke out. A man who looked to be the manager ran up to them and pulled them apart, then made them leave. They protested, but in the end walked out the door with vicious expressions on their faces.

This was all too much for me. I had grown up in a loving, supportive family with a minister for a father, a stay-at-home mom, and four other siblings to spend time with. None of them ever hit me, although Mary, my older sister, came close to giving me a black eye once. But that was only because I had told her crush that she liked him; Mary's dramatic like that, so it was only her natural reaction. But none of those arguments had ever been like these gang fights, where it was every man for himself. No one cared what happened to anyone else, and if they could save their skin, they would. No, this place was nothing like my home.

"You hungry?" It was the first time since I had told Matt how I had brought us here that anyone'd spoken. I wasn't really surprised, though; my brother was almost always the first one to speak in an uncomfortable silence, and I could bet the past few hours had been killing him.

"Not really," I answered.

Then I saw a tall, shadowy figure walking toward us. It was male, I could tell. As he stepped into the light of the streetlamp, I could see that he had white-blond hair and high cheekbones. His leather jacket and cigarrette dangling from his mouth suited him perfectly. He had a tough, bored, cool expression; one that made your neck hairs stick straight up and your body tense. It was Dallas Winston, I knew; you didn't have to be apart of this world to know him.

"Hey!" he called sharply. "You're the socs from before. What're you doin' on our territory?" Dally looked like he'd murder us if we didn't answer.

"We're not socs, and we're just passing through," I said shortly, ignoring Matt's puzzled expression. I was careful not to sound like I had authority over Dally, but I knew I had to keep a level, steady, tough voice so he wouldn't assume I was weak at first sight.

"Get outta here," was all he said before another boy stepped into the light, too. It was Sodapop Curtis.

"What's goin' on here, Dal?" he asked his friend. Then he scrutinized us better. "Hang on a sec. I recognize these two. We met up with 'em earlier."

"They're just passin' through, they say," Dallas answered. "And they say they ain't socs."

"We're not," Matt answered. He couldn't elaborate because he didn't know anything about the different social groups in Tulsa, 1966, but fortunately they didn't ask him any questions.

"C'mon, let's get outta here," I said to Matt. "Soc territory is even more dangerous." I turned back around and headed back into greaser territory, hoping to make it to the vacant lot.

I hadn't gone more than a few steps than Soda's shout rang out, "I thought we told y'all to leave!" I kept walking, as if I couldn't hear. It was dangerous to walk back into their territory like that, but it was the only way that we might have been safe.

"Kid!" It was Dally's voice that hit my eardrums, sharp and clear, this time. But I didn't listen. "Get back here!"

Then I heard feet pounding on concrete and a moment later they were on us. I bit back a scream, then tried to fight back. Dallas Winston was on top of me, slugging the crap out of my face. I bit his hand once, but he kept on hitting me. I could see Matt under Soda, and longed to push Dally off of me and go fight the blond freak, but the greaser sitting on top of me was too heavy. So I kicked, punched, screamed a string of curses at them; basically tried to stay alive.

I finally managed to roll Dally off of me and stood facing him, both of us livid. He had an insane expression on his face; I had one of fear and anger. Matt was still rolling around under Sodapop, trying to get up. One thing I knew about greasers was that they were fair fighters. They didn't pull weapons unless the other person had one, and neither me nor my brother had even a busted pop bottle, so I figured we were safe.

I stared at Dallas with a blank expression. I thought sure he was going to pin me again, but what he actually did do surprised me. Soda had gotten off of Matt by then, seeing that the fight had supposedly stopped, and both stood watching, waiting for something to happen.

"I never caught your names," Dally said, panting, his hand bleeding. I just stared at him, my mouth half open and eyebrows raised.

Then I found my voice. "I'm Hayden. That's Matt, my brother," I responded, pointing to him.

"Where did y'all think you were goin'?" Soda asked, a laugh in his voice.

"Well, we were trying to get to the lot," I answered, "but that didn't work out so well." They laughed. Then I continued, "We'll probably just go to the park and spend the night."

I knew Soda, at least, was going to object. "No, why don't you stay at my place?" When I looked uncertain, he said, "C'mon, we won't kill you."

Matt looked at him incredulously. "You try to kill us just now," he said, almost yelling, "and then you invite us to spend the night? What is this, some kind of game?" His voice was getting shrill; that was the Matt I knew, the Matt I hated. But this time I felt that he was right. "Thanks, but no thanks," he snapped.

We walked away, ignoring their shouts of "C'mon, we didn't mean it!" and headed for the park. I had no idea where it was, but I followed the sound of the fountain and headed away from greaser territory, into neutral grounds, and eventually we found it. My watch had stopped working, so I didn't know what time it was, but it was dark outside, and I could bet that it was very late; probably around one in the morning.

The park was deserted, and the only sounds were the gurgling of the fountain and whispering of the wind in the trees. Matt and I laid down under a towering Oak and watched the stars. "There's Orion," he remarked absently.

"Yeah," I responded, seeing the three stars that were his belt. Then I sat up and turned to Matt. "I'm sorry," I said, taking him by surprise.

"For what?" he asked, although he knew full well what for.

"I got us into this mess. I'm the one who got pissed an started reading, and then we ended up here. We could've died if they'd pulled weapons on us tonight, Matt, do you understand that?" I inquired, which in turn made his face pale.

"I don't blame you for this," he said after a while. "I shouldn't have started yelling at you in the first place." I could tell he felt sorry, but it wasn't his fault.

"Look, maybe it's both of our faults, or maybe it's no one's fault. Maybe it just happened." I paused for a few minutes and lay back down, searching for more constellations to rid me of my thoughts, but it wouldn't work. Laying on my back, I said, "Let's forget about whose fault it is. We need to find a way to get back home."

"And how exactly do we do that?" he asked skeptically, his eyebrows raised.

I sighed. "We have to write a story to take us back home."

**Like it? It might have been a bit random in parts, but I think it's pretty good. Review and tell me what I need to change. Thanks a lot, guys! Your reviews make my day.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys. I've been sick and I have way too many things going on right now, including my friend's cat who I loved very much dying of cancer, numerous concerts for the school chorus, and a lot of big tests. I finally found time to write this. Please bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inkheart, 7th Heaven, or The Outsiders. I do own Hayden Camden.**

When I woke up the next morning, I could hear little kids screaming and I tried to block it out, but couldn't. For a second I wondered where I was, but then it all came rushing back. I rolled over onto my back and sat up, blinking in the sunlight.

Memories of the night before came rushing back, and I put my hand to my forehead to steady myself. I remembered everything; the fight, wandering aimlessly around for hours, and the knowledge of what had to be done to get us back.

_"And how exactly do we do that?" he asked skeptically, his eyebrows raised._

_I sighed. "We have to write a story to take us back home."_

What was I going to do? I didn't have paper, let alone anything to write with. And I sure as heck wasn't going to ask anyone around here for anything; no way, not after what had happened the day before.

Then I noticed how ravenously hungry I was, and I looked around for my brother. Matt was leaning against a maple tree, staring into space. He didn't look too great, but then I got a better look at him. My brother looked thinner, like a stray cat that looks like it hasn't been fed in a few days. His skin tone was darker, too, and not from the sun. I could see a stubble of beard on his jaw; he needed a shave.

He looked over at me and forced a smile. "Mornin', sleepyhead. I was wondering when you'd wake up."

"Hey," I answered weakly. I was still tired, but I was too hungry to think about it; I hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. "You got any money? I'm starved."

He furrowed his brow as he searched through his pockets. "About three bucks," Matt said, dissatisfied.

"That's plenty," I said, then started walking in the direction of the Dingo, the neighborhood hangout for greasers. It was probably a dangerous place to go, but safer, no doubt, than any soc place we could have gone to. I noticed Matt wasn't following me. "Coming?"

"You know we can't buy anything with three dollars in America, Hayden," he said in a tone that suggested he knew something I didn't.

I sighed impatiently. "Ever heard of inflation? Everything's cheaper now, it's the sixties, Matt. Wake up."

We ordered breakfast at the little diner, and Matt started flirting with the waitress; she looked about sixteen, had curly brown hair, and the skinniest little body I'd ever seen; she was even skinnier than my sister Lucy. When she left, I snapped, "Matt, you do know that in our time she's around fourty-six?"

He stared at his hand, seeming to be studying a cut he'd gotten the day before; Soda must have been really hard on him. "Oh," was all he said.

I regretted my tone at once. We both knew that the only way we were going to get back was to get along, and he hadn't done anything to me since we'd gotten there. But pride kept me from saying anything. My stupid pride. That was what got us into this mess; I had been proud and ignored my family, and now I was faced with the prospect of getting home, and I didn't even know if it would work.

We left the diner around ten o'clock, and I suggested we go into the thrift shop a little ways down the street so we could buy something to wear besides the clothes we'd had on for almost three days. "I don't know," Matt said, unconvinced. "What if they don't let us in?"

"Matt, use your head," I snapped impatiently. "They help people like us. We're living on the streets till we get back home, and they price everything cheap at thrift stores so poor people and hobos can buy them."

"Can I help you?" asked a short, red-haired woman with a sweet, genuine smile when we walked in. The place was sort of shabby; the paint was faded, and in some places it was peeling a bit, and in the far corners of the store the carpet was holey. But it was a homey little shop, and the people who worked there seemed nice enough.

"No, thanks," I said politely. "I think we're okay for now."

About a half hour later, we walked out witha bag each, our old outfits buried deep into the depths of them, and both of us wearing new clothes. I was wearing a skinny red t-shirt and some jeans, rolled up to my knees to make capris; it was hot that day. The cute little red flip flops I was wearing went nicely withmy outfit. Matt sported a white t-shirt with a green plaid short sleeve work shirt, unbuttoned, and some wrangler jeans. If we needed one, I was sure I could find a laundry mat for us to wash our clothes, but I was hoping we wouldn't have to stay that long.

"One of us needs a job or something," Matt said as we walked down the sidewalk, farther into greaser territory. He was looking around warily, but I was being less conspicuous. I had my eyes peeled, yes, but my ears were working hardest.

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I've been thinking about it a lot, actually." I paused for a moment. He wouldn't like it one bit, what I was suggesting, but I had to give it a shot. It could be all that we needed to turn our luck around. Hesitantly, I said, "I was thinking you could work at that gas station we saw yesterday."

Matt looked at me, alarmed. "You mean that DX Station?" I nodded, dread at the pit of my stomach. It was going all wrong already. "No way, not with those guys there."

"Oh, come on, Matt!" I pleaded. "We need money, and I'm not old enough to work, even in this time period." Looking straight into his pale, thunderstruck face, I said, "I bet they'd treat you better if they knew you."

"I'm not so sure of that, Hayden," he said. "They knew us some yesterday, and they still tried to kill us."

"Yes, but they only knew us a little, and Soda invited us to his house!" I argued. "Besides, we were in their territory, and Dally's a--"

"Dally's a what?" said a tough, hard voice. I turned slowly around, and of course, there the stupid idiot was. Oh, how I hated him now.

"I was _going _to say that you were a territorial jerk, but I don't think that'd be appropriate now," I spat defiantly, knowing full well that saying it could end me up in the local ICU, but not caring in the least.

"Watch your mouth, kid," Dally snarled. The lines of pure hatred in his face only made my blood boil more.

"Why don't you make me, huh?" I knew I needed to calm down or he'd pound my head in, but I made no effort to steady myself. Instead, my anger flared up to, probably, my limit.

"Hey, it's the little socygirl and her brother!" another voice called, and I noticed with a sickening pang how much we _did _look like socs today. I allowed my eyes to flick over to where the sound came from for a fleeting second, and seeing that it was only Two-Bit Mathews, my vision snapped back to Dally. _Idiot, _I thought, _why can't you find someone else to terrorize? _

"Come on, Hayden, let's get out of here," Matt snarled, not looking at me, but at the two greasers stationed about ten feet ahead of us. They looked positively livid.

"No way, you two ain't going anywhere," Two-Bit spat. "We're goin' to the DX. C'mon. _Now_."

We followed without protest, although my reflexes were screaming to slap them both upside the head and run. I knew I had to control myself, though, and restrained myself without complaint.

"Those two _again?_" Steve Randle said incredulously when we walked through the front door of the gas station. "What'd you bring 'em here for?"

"Heard 'em talkin' about this one"--Dally jerked his thumb toward Matt--"gettin' a job here." I groaned inwardly. Matt hadn't seemed as if he'd wanted the job! Oh, what I would've done to get out of there right then.

"What's goin' on, Stevie?" I recognized Soda's voice instantly. When he walked out behind the counter, he stopped in his tracks and made a face.

"The guy wants a job," Two-Bit helped.

"No, I don't," Matt snapped. "I want to get out of here."

"Yeah, and the only way we're going to get anywhere is for you to get a job," I told him quietly. The rest of them turned to look at me, and I stared back, my face expressionless. Eventually, they stopped staring; I was relieved. It made me uncomfortable to have people looking at me like that, no matter how little my poker face gave away.

"How old are you two?" Soda inquired. He didn't sound angry, just curious.

"I'm fourteen and he's seventeen," I responded. I wasn't sure exactly why he wanted to know, but I had a clue.

"Hmm. . . same age as Steve and a year older than me," he mumbled; it was like he was talking more to himself than the rest of us. Suddenly he looked up, staring straight into Matt's eyes. "I can get you a job here; if you're serious, that is." Soda looked at my brother for a long time with a hard, searching look.

Matt looked at me, his eyes begging for a reason to say no, but I wouldn't give it to him. "Take it, Matt," I told him. My words dripped with seriousness and pleading. He seemed to understand finally that I wasn't going to help him out of this, and turned to the greasers.

"Fine, you can try," he sighed defeatedly, looking directly into Sodapop's eyes. "How am I going to know if I got it, though?"

"Oh, I think we can find you," Two-Bit laughed, a smile playing around his lips. Of course, we'd been appearing under their noses for around two days now.

"In case we can't, though," Steve interjected, looking mutinous, "be here around two tomorrow. We'll tell you everything we know." I knew he didn't like me and Matt, and the idea of working with him made his blood boil, but somehow I knew that all this would work out.

**A/N: Once again, I'm so sorry I haven't been updating! I'll try to do better from now on. Please review and tell me what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: See? I'm kind of semi-good at this updating thing again!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart, or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

We turned to leave. "Wait!" I heard Sodapop call. I whipped swiftly back around to face him; Matt did so more slowly. Soda seemed to hesitate as he searched for the right words. I couldn't imagine what he wanted this time.

Finally, after several seconds of tension, I got impatient. "Look," I said, exasperated, "either tell us or let us go." _Like we've got anywhere _to_ go, _I thought to myself.

Soda's expression was pleading as he forced out the words. "I know we kind of went the wrong way last time, but . . ." More hesitation. I was growing irritated, but I was curious as to what he wanted, so I waited as patiently as I could, my face gentle. "Well, I know this might be a lot to ask . . ."

"Spit it out, Sodapop," I helped him. I wasn't ready to just call him "Soda" yet. We didn't know each other well enough.

He shot a quick glance over my way, then focused on Matt. "You don't seem to have any place to stay, other than the park or Buck's, so . . ." Soda sighed, anxious and apprehensive. Finally he blurted it out. "D'you want to stay at my place for a while?"

The other greasers looked at him, shocked that he'd ask "socs" to stay at his house, but he ignored them; instead his gaze was fixed on Matt and I, worried, maybe because he was afraid we'd blow up at him again. Well, I had no intent on such things.

Matt started to get angry and yell, but I held my hand up to quiet him. He looked at me, surprised, but I didn't pay attention. "Give us a second," I replied after a pause, knowing Matt would automatically object; I wanted to slap some sense in him before he did. I took my brother by the arm and hauled him outside the gas station.

"I say we do it," I shot at him automatically. He didn't seem to agree; a natural reaction for him.

"No way, remember what happened last time?" It didn't look like Matt was going to give in very easily; I would have to get tough. Of course, I'd gotten hard with him before, but this was different. This time I didn't know if I'd be able to get through to him at all.

"Yeah, and do you remember that we barely knew them then?" I snapped, knowing he'd find a way around my remark. He always did.

"Mmhm, and do you realize that we still barely know those guys?" he shot back, and I was at a loss for words for a second. "Hayden," he said, taking his chance, "they attacked us last time. We could have been really hurt. Do you really want to live with people like that?" His face was pleading.

Regaining my composure, I begged, "Please, Matt, it's only for a little while; just until I get a story written. I need somewhere I can sit down and think something up." Matt opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "Look," I said more forcefully, "I'm never going to get anything to write with if I don't talk to someone, and frankly, I don't really trust anyone here. But I've read about these greasers, and they seemed decent in the book. I think we can trust them. Please," I added on a more desperate note.

My brother looked at me with uncertainty, but he seemed to be considering what I'd said, so I kept quiet. "I don't know . . ." he began, studying the pavement. "But you're right, we do need somewhere to stay." Matt looked up at me with finality. "We can try, I guess. But they have to watch their step, or we're out."

"Thank you, Matt," I gushed. "Thank you." I reached up and hugged him with all my might. He returned my grizzly hug and we clung together for a minute, and then I was aware of the greasers watching us and whispered, "They're looking at us again."

Without a word, he gently let go of me and we marched back inside. "We've decided," Matt declared in a hard voice, and Soda's face turned anxious again; my brother's face wasn't exactly what you'd call friendly-looking. I shot him a glance of reassurance, and he seemed to calm down a bit. It was almost like he regretted asking us, but maybe it was just my imagination. _He's probably just afraid Matt's going to get mad,_ I reassured myself.

"We're staying for now," he continued, and Soda looked relieved. "But," Matt said quickly, and Sodapop's face fell a little bit, "watch it. We're not putting up with anything funny." At this, Soda's face lit up; I didn't know exactly why he was so excited, but maybe it was just his way to be happy at everything.

"Define 'funny'," Two-Bit joked. I rolled my eyes in playful exasperation, but apparently one other greaser didn't think it was quite so humorous.

"Shut up, Two-Bit," Steve growled. _We'll grow on him, _I assured myself, only half believing it.

"C'mon, Hayden, let's get going," Matt said, walking toward the door. I didn't follow, and after a minute he noticed and looked confusedly in my direction.

"Uh, Matt," I began tentatively, not sure if he'd agree to what I was about to ask, "I was wondering . . . if I could just hang out here for a while . . . if that's okay." We were staying with the greasers for now, so why couldn't he trust me with them alone? He'd have to when he started working at the DX; that is, _if _he started working at the DX. It wasn't as if his boss would let him bring me to work every day.

His eyes flickered from me to the greasers standing beside me and back, his expression unreadable. I was automatically regretful that I'd even asked; then, something miraculous happened. "I guess so," Matt sighed. "Just be careful." I didn't miss the double meaning in his words.

**A/N: Yeah, it's a kind of semi-cliffy . . . thing. It's kind of short, but I'm satisfied. Tell me if you aren't. I updated my profile (near the bottom), and I got a new homepage. Check it out!**

**Oh yes, one last thing . . .**

_**Review!!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm sorry! I know I suck at updating now. I've just got so much to do! I honestly don't have much time during the day to sit down and write, so please be patient. I'm aware that it's not too exciting right now, and that Ponyboy and Johnny haven't had much of a part in it yet. Don't worry; they'll be in this chapter, so sit tight.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart, or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

Dally and Two-Bit left right after Matt, and I was glad when they headed in the opposite direction of my brother. I still didn't trust any of them completely, but that'd be taken care of soon, if Sodapop had anything to do with it.

"So what do you guys usually do around here?" I asked Soda, following him behind the counter. I was just trying to make small talk, and I knew both of the greasers left noticed it. I didn't show that I cared, but in my mind I was embarrassed beyond belief that I was that obvious.

There was a reason I didn't ask Steve--I was afraid of him. He'd been too hostile for me to trust him now. I glanced at Steve as I talked to Soda, and he noticed. He scowled, and quite frankly, I didn't blame him.

"Oh, I dunno," Soda replied loftily, not noticing Steve and I. "Fix cars, fill up gas tanks, work the cash register. That's about it." He was quiet for a long time. I guessed it was because he didn't know exactly what to say to me without asking millions of questions, so he kept his trap shut. I toyed around with the cash register a lot, and even rang up a few items for people. They looked surprised and asked if I worked there, and when I said no, they asked if I was somebody's sister or something. I said yes, which was truth enough. Either way, I think my help was appreciated. When it was around closing time, Sodapop finally said, "Where'd your brother go?"

I realized then that I hadn't a clue where Matt was. He'd just left; I didn't think twice about it because I was used to him doing the same thing all the time at home. I shrugged. I wasn't worried about him; he could take care of himself, for the most part.

"You think he'll be able to find the house?" Soda asked anxiously. I wanted to ask him why he was so worried about my brother for everything, but I didn't want to be rude, so I just answered his question and walked alongside him.

"Probably. It's this thing with siblings," I said, "you sort of know where the other one is all the time. You'd know about it; you've got two brothers. Matt's really hard on me, though, 'cause I'm a girl. He thinks I'll _do_ something." I could tell Sodapop didn't miss what I meant by that last sentence. "I guess he'll be lookin' extra hard tonight, considering I'm gonna be the only girl in a house full of guys."

He was eyeing me suspiciously. "How d'you know so much about me?" he asked skeptically.

I mentally beat myself to death. _You're not supposed to know this! _I screamed at myself. _They'll _know _you're not from here if you keep spilling the beans with everything you say! _But I shut myself up and managed to say, as naturally as I could, "I saw your brothers the first day we met, remember? You know, the time y'all tried to beat our heads in?" I reminded him, with a bit of sass in that last sentence. "I knew it was them; y'all look alike." It wasn't the whole truth and I knew both of them saw through my mask of indifference, but I tried to make up for myself by staring straight ahead and walking as inconspicuously as possible, as if to prove that it was nothing. I was pretty sure that I failed miserably, but I was quick to hide that, too.

We walked along in silence, Soda's and Steve's long stride matching me step for step in my fast little walk. I tried to keep up with them without looking like a fool, but it wasn't hard. I walked fast like that all the time at school; you had to, or you'd be late every day. Steve kept eyeing my suspiciously, and I tried my best to avert my gaze. Finally I got so fed up with it that I started walking ahead of both of them, and Sodapop said, "Calm down. Ain't no socs tailing us. You don't got to worry." He looked concerned.

"I'm fine. I just felt like getting along quicker, is all," I excused myself. Yeah, they saw through that, too; I decided I didn't care anymore. They could think what they wanted about me.

Apparently nobody had told Darry or Ponyboy about me and Matt staying over, because when we stepped over the threshold of the door, Ponyboy exclaimed, "What the hell is she doing here?" I was offended, and not only because he'd used a swear word. He made it sound like I was going to stir up trouble or something. But I let it slide; how else was I going to gain his trust?

"I asked her _and _her brother to stay here for a while," Sodapop answered defensively, putting more emphasis than necessary on the "and". Pony's jaw dropped and he called for Darry, and the first thing I knew, Superman himself was walking toward me. A chill went down my spine, even though I told myself he wouldn't hurt me. I guess I didn't entirely believe myself.

"Aren't you the one--" he started, and I cut him off.

"Yeah, I'm the one with the older brother," I said matter-of-factly. I didn't need reminding of our little unexpected acquaintance. He stared at me, then shook his head, as if to clear his mind. _I got news for you, buddy, _I thought. _You ain't gonna forget me as soon as you'd forget your own name._

"So she showed up," Dally said, waltzing into the living room, beer in hand, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Wonder what happened to the older guy."

"I wouldn't know," I retorted coldly. "Would you have anything to do with it?" I was very aware of his death glare _and _his temper, but I didn't exactly care at the moment.

"No," he spat back. "I didn't touch him." And he didn't speak to me for the rest of the night.

I didn't miss his frightening glares, though. Dally kept throwing looks over his shoulder and once or twice his lip even curled. It was unnerving, but I forced myself to look in the opposite direction.

"You hungry?" Darry called from the kitchen. We'd talked for a while, and _he_ seemed to trust me, at least. I'd gotten past the "leader" of the group; now it was time to tackle the lower ranks.

"No, thanks." I really wasn't. My insides were twisted and knotted up, and I felt sick. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold anything down.

I was scared for Matt; that was why I didn't feel good. He should have gotten here by now. A million questions went through my mind. Where was he? What had happened, if anything? Was he hurt? Had he just left for the next town? I pushed that one out of my mind at once. Of all the things Matt _would _do, it would never be that; especially if he left me with a house full of boys who were all older than me that he didn't trust. But there was another burning question.

Had he actually tried to write himself back?

He could try, but without my voice, he wouldn't succeed.

That is, if he couldn't do it himself. I was beginning to give up on the laws of physics.

I don't know when I fell asleep, or even if it was actually sleep or just an unconsious wandering. All I know is that the nightmare that went through my subconsious mind wasn't one I was likely to forget.

_Matt and I were back home, in the back yard. He looked younger, around fourteen. That had to mean this was just after Ruthie was born, and that I was somewhere around eleven. We were sitting on the ground, and Ruthie was running after my little brother Simon's dog, Happy. I was wondering why in the world anyone would name an animal after an emotion, when Dad came outside._

_"Guys?" he asked tentatively, warily. I immediately felt butterflies swarming in my stomach, and I felt sick. It was never good when Dad was scared._

_"What?" Matt asked skeptically, with an edge to his voice. He was just as nervous and confused as I was._

_"Um, your mother and I need to talk to you," he said quietly. "Ruthie!" he called gently, and she turned around with a confused expression, but came._

_We sat down in the living room, and the ominous silence was enough for me to guess some pretty horrible things. Was someone missing? Hurt?_

_Dead?_

_"This might be hard for you to take in," Mom began with a quavering voice, "but it's better if you know. Kids," she went on on more frightened note, "Aunt Julie's been sentenced to death for murder. She killed Uncle Hank."_

My eyelids flew open then, and I was breathing heavily. I knew none of what I'd just dreamed had ever happened, and that my dad's sister was still happily married to her husband, and they had a little baby girl together. _No, _I told myself firmly, _Aunt Julie may be an alcoholic, but she'd never kill anyone._

I realized then how homesick I was. I was thirty years before my own time and miserable. I wanted to curl up in my own bed, have Matt snoring lightly in his own bed across from mine. I wanted Mom's home cooked meals and Dad's advice. I wanted to hear Mary and Lucy fighting again, and I wanted to know what antics Ruthie had gotten up to lately. I wanted to see more tricks from Happy that Simon had taught her, and I wanted to hang out with my friends again, and go to the ice skating rink and the mall. I didn't know how much longer I could go without all that. It would be a shame to know that I could never go back.

But I could; didn't I know that? All I needed was paper, pencils, and some ideas. But what would happen if ten years passed and I still hadn't thought of anything? I'd be an adult then, having to make my own decisions, with the Vietnam War raging and three hundred boys getting killed every week. What would happen if I got attatched to the gang and some of them were the boys that got killed? I shuddered at the thought.

What if _Matt _got drafted and killed?

I couldn't let that happen. No way, no how. I would have to start thinking of ideas soon, before any of that happened.

During my reverie, I hadn't noticed that Ponyboy was staring at me worriedly from my position on the couch. "What?" I asked warily, startled. He'd been angry before to even look at me, so why was he concerned for me now?

"You were thrashing," he said simply, but it was obvious that he was still carefully calculating my next move. "I got scared you were going to fall off the sofa or something." He seemed embarrassed.

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

"Well, if you're hungry, we've got breakfast made . . ." Ponyboy trailed off. His cheeks were red from blushing, and I tried to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a while," I answered with a smile. Then I turned politely questioning. "Can I get a shower?" I knew I smelled and looked horrible, and my clothes were in dire need of a washing. I'd do that later, though.

"Sure, down the hall and to the left," he answered easily. "Last door." I thanked him and swiftly walked down the hall, nudged open the door, and took my shower in record time. I knew they were short on cash; I didn't need to run their bills up any more.

I walked out ten minutes later, feeling a lot better. My hair was washed and didn't feel heavy with grease, and I didn't have that dark, filthy tint to my skin anymore. Sitting down at the table in front of bacon and pancakes I knew to be mine, I looked around and found Ponyboy leaning against the counter, daydreaming, no doubt.

"Thanks," I said from my seat at the table. He snapped out of his vacant stare, and turned to face me, surprised. "Didn't think girls could take short showers?" I teased.

Apparently that was exactly what he was thinking, because he just stared at me, dumbfounded. I got kind of self-consious, so I asked, "Did Matt come in at all last night?"

"The big dude?" he asked. I was a little annoyed by the way he referred to my brother, but, yet again, I let it slide.

"Yeah, him," I answered.

"No."

The blunt reply sent chills down my spine.

I was quite sure my brother was gone for good.

**A/N: This is probably my longest chapter yet. I'm extremely satisfied with it. I am now off to paint my toenails so they'll look all pretty for prom tomorrow night.**

**Review, pretty please?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey, y'all. It's another update, courtesy of me! I went ice skating with my friends today, but I left early. I wasn't having fun. But I just got back from prom, and it was so awesome! We were all so pretty. I guess it's time for you guys to read some more of my story that you love so very much, so I'm not the only one having a positively wonderful time tonight.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart, or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

"Hey, don't look like that," Ponyboy said cautiously. I just stared at him with wide eyes.

It was _not _like Matt just to go off and stay away like that unless he had a good reason. He'd only done that once, when his ex-girlfriend, Heather, sent him a _Dear John_ letter, but he was only sixteen then, and desperate. Matt loved that girl, and he'd gone across the country, all the way to Pennsylvania, to try to get her back. But she'd met someone, and he gave up, and he was back home in a week.

But now? There was no one he knew here, especially in this time period. It would be stupid if he went off looking for someone here.

"Let's go," I finally choked out. I stood up from the breakfast I no longer wanted, and walked out the door. I was sure he'd been jumped or something. It just wasn't like him to stay out all night like that.

Ponyboy caught up with me almost as soon as I was down the front steps. He tried to stop me by grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around to look at him, but I shook him off. So he used a different tactic--trying to reason with me. "Hayden, where are you going?" he asked sharply. I was startled to find Ponyboy knew my name, and I whipped around to face him at the sound of it, and looked at him with my eyebrow cocked. "What?" he asked nervously.

It took me a minute to clear my head enough to answer him. "I'm going to find my brother," I said defiantly. I didn't care if he didn't want me to go.

"Let me walk with you," Ponyboy said, and I was taken by surprise yet again that he agreed so easily, but relieved all the same. After I nodded, we broke into a run toward the soc side of town. I was almost positive that it had been them.

We walked after a while, because my feet were screaming and I was out of breath. Ponyboy seemed in no better shape, but at least he kept himself together.

After a while, Ponyboy started talking again. "I don't think we should go any farther," he said nervously. When I only looked at him questioningly, he explained, "We're almost at the end of the neutral part of Tulsa." He looked as if he'd've liked nothing better than to turn around right then and head home; after all, it wasn't his brother who was missing. But I had other plans.

"You can leave if you like," I growled, "but I'm staying out here until I find Matt." I knew I shouldn't have been so snappish, but he was starting to get on my nerves.

He looked at me sort of incredulously. "Me, leave a girl alone on the streets? I'm not _that _irresponsible." It sounded like he was getting defensive, and it irritated me.

"_This _girl can take care of herself, thank you _very _much," I snarled. It was true. Back at home, I had been the rebel of the family, always getting into fights and getting detentions and referrals and things like that, and I was the one who always talked back to my parents. But they didn't seem to want to care anymore, and that might have been a bad thing if I wasn't stranded here in Tulsa, forty years before my time, trying to find my possibly dead brother. At least it gave me some backbone.

"Fine," he snapped. "I'm going home." And he turned away and headed back toward the east side of town. I didn't care. I didn't care about him. I could deal with this myself. I kept telling myself that, but I knew it wasn't true. He was the one who knew his way around town, and he was the one who could lead me back.

All the same, I headed on, farther and farther into the soc side of town. I was getting some weird looks, but I didn't pay attention. I was just thankful none of them seemed to be thinking about jumping me; I figured it was because I didn't look exactly like a soc, but not a greaser, either. Sort of middle-classish, I guess. Briefly, I wondered why people went so much by looks. Didn't the person under all those designer clothes or worn out jeans matter?

My bewilderment was immediately cut off when I saw a dark lump on the side walk. I broke into a terrified run, thinking that this could only be my brother. Faster and faster I sprinted until I reached the scarlet blood-covered mound that I took to be Matt. I skidded to halt and started, wide-eyed, at the dark heap.

That wasn't Matt. I knew it as soon as I saw his face. At first, I thought it was some soc, and knelt down to see what I could do. It wasn't like I could just leave him here; I knew what to do in most cases like this from personal experience, and this person hadn't done anything to me. It was only fair for me to help him.

But it wasn't a soc either.

Dallas Winston lay unconscious at my feet.

"Dally!" I breathed. I hated him, but he looked so helpless right then that I couldn't find the savage disdain for him that usually boiled over the surface every time I looked at him. I rolled him over, hoping to find the source of the blood, and almost got sick. There was a long, deep gash in his chest. I checked his pulse and got a faint one, but not as faint as I'd feared. Looking back at his sliced-open chest, I saw that it was moving up and down rapidly, but at least he was still breathing.

I searched frantically around, looking for something to stem the flow of blood, but I found nothing. I was afraid to call for help, because who knew what the socs would do? What I was really frightened for, though, was the fact that whoever I called might be the same ones that had hurt Dally so badly, and they might decide to finish their job.

They might kill him.

As much as I hated him, I couldn't let anyone do anything to him. I was too soft.

Absentmindedly, I put my hand in my pocket and felt some coins. Big deal. _Hey, wait a minute . . . _I thought, a plan forming in my mind. _Coins . . ._ There was a pay phone a few feet away . . .

I frantically pulled the money out of my pocket and counted it. Sixty cents. I smiled to myself, pleased that my idea could work. But when I looked back at Dallas, the grin was wiped off my face instantly. He looked even worse, and his breathing was shallower. I checked his pulse again, and that was fainter than I remembered. Fear spread quick and fast through my body, and I felt close to tears. He wouldn't die if I could help it. "Hang on, Dally. Help's coming." My voice shook.

I scrambled to my feet and raced over to the pay phone, shoved a quarter into the coin exchange, and dialed 911 with violently trembling fingers. Keeping my eye on Dally the whole time the phone rang, I prayed fervently and desperately that he'd be okay. Finally, someone picked up on the other line. "Hello, how may I help you?"

It sickened me how calm someone could be at a time like this. Even though I reminded myself that she didn't know anything about Dallas, it did nothing to calm the hatred boiling inside me. I pushed that aside as best I could, though, as I answered her with a shaking voice, "My friend's hurt." It amazed even me how I could call him a "friend" so easily, but maybe now that he was in such bad shape, the hatred that pulsed through my veins so violently every time I looked at him was dying down. Maybe I was starting to like him a little.

"How exactly are they hurt?" the sickeningly calm voice asked. I could hear the impatience and sarcasm in her soft voice, and the anger bubbled even higher to the surface. But I had to keep my cool.

"Gash in his chest. Blood all over him. Possibly some broken bones. His breathing's shallow and he's got a really faint pulse." My annoyance at her matched the hatred I felt for her. I smiled a dry smile, glad I had hurt her a little with my tone.

Her voice changed automatically. "Where can I send the ambulance?" she asked softly.

I realized that I hadn't the slightest clue where I was. Looking around, I saw a small, cozy diner with the sign "Jay's" in neon lights across the street. I told her this, and she said, "Okay. Hang on tight." She hung up quickly.

A low groan sounded from behind me and I whipped around and ran toward Dally. He had woken up. "Don't move," I commanded gently as he tried to sit up. He snapped his head in my direction and stared at me, bewildered, until he saw who I was. Then he slumped back down on the pavement with a defeated air, yet sort of exasperated. I didn't blame him; he hated me as much as I did him. Dally winced suddenly and gasped, and I panicked a little, then calmed myself down enough to ask, "Where's it hurt?"

I guess he was either too tired and in pain to argue with me, or he knew that I knew what I was doing, because he answered, breathing hard, "My wrist." He held up his left hand. I took it with gentle fingers and examined it, but I heard his sharp intake of breath all the same. There was no denying it--his wrist was at least dislocated. I told Dally this, and he groaned in annoyance. "It's all right," I soothed. "We'll fix it."

"Who's 'we'?" he asked suspiciously, his heavy breathing making his speech almost incomprehensible. At least some of the old defiance was back in Dallas Winston, instead of that unbearable helplessness that was so unlike him.

"I called an ambulance." Before he could cut me off, I went on: "Look, they'll help you. Hospitals aren't usually biased freaks like the rest of the world."

He laughed sourly. "You must not know these docs." Then he drew a sharp, painful breath and went limp.

**A/N: Yay! I finally updated. Wow . . . I started working on this on May 2nd, and I've finally just gotten around to finishing it . . . But now that school's out and I've got my website all fixed, I'll probably be able to update more. Just make sure you motivate me with your wonderful reviews!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been this long, but I went on vacation before I got a chance to finish and then I couldn't use the computer when I got home. I hope you don't hate me too much.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart, or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

"Dally? Dally!" I exclaimed, panic overtaking me. No answer. That scared me. I checked his pulse again.

There was barely anything there.

Was he breathing? I looked, and I didn't see his chest moving up and down anymore. I squinted at him, and I saw that he _was _breathing, but just barely. _Oh, no, _I thought. _I can't do CPR on him! _I knew CPR very well; I had been forced to take a class on it in seventh grade by the oh-so wonderful school system, but I never thought I'd have to use it on anyone!

"Come, on, Dally, hang on!" I begged, close to tears. "The ambulance'll be here soon. Hang on long enough for them to help you!" _You're not supposed to die yet! _I thought, though I didn't voice this. He wasn't supposed to know. No one was.

I heard sirens and stood up, looking toward the end of the street. Sure enough, a small, sixties style ambulance, lights flashing, was speeding toward us. I waved my arms and jumped up and down; anything to get its attention. They must have seen me, because they pulled to a stop in front of the side walk and almost flew around back and pulled out a stretcher. I was sure that if Dally had been conscious, he wouldn't have let them put him on that stretcher, much less touch him. I chuckled a little to myself at the thought of him jumping up and beating the tar out of those EMTs. As I looked at Dally again, I could feel a worried frown spreading across my face. He was so pale.

I folded my arms across my chest like one of those worried mothers staring at her dying child--you know, the kind you see on the news all the time--without realizing what I was doing. And like one of those worried mothers, I felt silent tears sliding down my cheeks. What if he died? I knew it wouldn't be my fault, but I could have saved him. I hoped with all the power and strength God gave me that he would be okay; I would never forgive myself if I let him die like that. But why was I blaming myself? He hadn't died yet, and he probably wouldn't if I believed it hard enough, I soothed myself.

"You coming?" I looked up. One of the EMTs was staring at me worriedly from where he stood at the back of the ambulance, ready to close its doors. I just nodded, afraid that if I said anything I'd lose it. He smiled sympathetically at me, and I hurried past him and slid into the back seat next to the stretcher they had laid Dally on.

I got a better look at Dally than I had so far. He was sprawled across the small mattress in a hurried manner; it was as if the EMTs had tried to make him fit, but had given up in fear that he would die before they could get him inside. They had been right to let it go; he was too tall. His wrist was hanging off the stretcher at an odd angle, and now I was sure that it was broken. The front of his shirt was scarlet, and the blood was spreading still rapidly more. I was glad that they were trying to stem the flow at last.They'd put him on oxygen, and that calmed me down a little; his chest was rising and falling more steadily now. I was finally starting to stop shaking, and the sick feeling in my stomach was starting to vanish. I trusted these people with his life; I had to. They were the only ones that could help him.

But _were _they the only ones?

No.

I could save him in another way. I could write a story. He would live, and recover completely.

All I needed was pencil and paper.

I nudged one of the EMTs who didn't appear to be so busy, and when she turned her head toward me with yet another look of sympathy, I asked, "Would you happen to have some paper on you? And can I borrow that pen?" I pointed at the black ball-point pen she was clutching.

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I don't," she apologized. "I'm sure they will at the hospital, though. You could ask the person at the front desk."

"Oh," I said, a little disappointed. Dally needed help _now! _I tried to push that aside, though, as I thought of the fact that I _could _get what I needed soon enough. God was taking care of me, and I intended to use everything He gave me.

I thought that ambulance would never pull up in front of those hospital doors. When it did, though, I hopped out the back doors as soon as they were open, because I wasn't too keen on getting squashed by that stretcher. Besides, I had work to do.

I barged through the emergency room doors, the EMTs hot on my heels. One of them broke away from the rest of them and steered me toward the waiting room. I got a last glance at Dally, and saw that he wasn't breathing anymore. Not even when I looked closer did I see that big, strong chest moving up and down in in that familiar rhythmic pattern. I stifled a sob and let the EMT put his arms around my shoulders comfortingly while he led me to a plastic waiting room chair.

I knew then that I didn't have much time left. I would have to work quickly.

"Is there anything I can get you?" a gentle voice asked. Startled, I looked around, only to see that the EMT that had brought me here was still at my side. He was smiling comfortingly at me.

I snapped out of my daze and asked him, "Can you ask for some paper and a pen or something for me?" I would have gotten it myself, but a sudden weariness overtook me and I couldn't move. I blinked tiredly at him.

He smiled still more warmly. "Sure. Hang on." He walked over to the front counter and I could hear him asking the receptionist for my things, and a few seconds later, he was back at my side, handing me the pen and paper, as I'd asked. I smiled the best I could at him, but it felt strained and painful. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

I just stared at him helplessly. "I don't know what happened," I finally replied. "I just found him. He was beat up before I got there."

"So you don't know anything at all apart from what you saw when you found him?" The guy was finally starting to look disappointed. That was better. I was starting to get sick of all the calmness.

"No. And I don't know how to tell his friends what happened." I yawned, then blinked exhaustedly. "I don't have their number."

"I'll find a way," he promised. Then he left. I was glad, because I needed to get to work.

My mind had suddenly gone blank. What would I write? What could I possibly say to save him? I wasn't going to make it all magical and cheesy--people would get suspicious, and I didn't want anyone to know what I could do. I certainly wasn't going to write anything about the past, because I wasn't going to change what had happened to him. Don't get me wrong; I _wanted _him to get better, but if he suddenly sprang up out of the hospital bed, his chest perfectly mended and his wrist unbroken, people would get even more suspicious and fearful of him than they already were. No . . . best to write about the present . . . My mind started working suddenly and I scribbled frantically the story that would save Dallas Winston's life.

I was so absorbed in my story that I didn't notice anyone walk in while I was writing, so when Ponyboy Curtis sat down beside me and put his arm around me, it startled me out of my wits. I jumped about a foot in the air, dropping the paper and pen, and I gave a little shriek of surprise. When I calmed back down, he said, "How're you feeling?" with a small smirk of amusement plastered on his face.

A surge of hate went through me as I looked into those dancing green-gray eyes, and I pulled away from him. "Don't touch me," I snarled. I wasn't about to forgive him that easily for leaving me by myself to cope with Dally. Of course, Ponyboy couldn't have known that Dallas had been almost murdered, so I couldn't really blame him. . . . But still, he really had been a pain in the butt.

"Aw, come on," he whined, and tried to put his arm back around me. I had had enough. I stood up, threw one last, cold glance in his direction, snatched up the paper and pen, and stalked over to a chair on the other side of the room. Ponyboy kept watching me, and it was making me nervous. I tried to concentrate on writing, and even got some sentences down, but his gaze boring into me was more than distracting. Finally I just stood up, walked over to him, and slapped him across the face. He looked astonished. "What was that for?" he asked angrily. The rest of the gang was watching us, but I didn't care. Darry or Soda didn't even try to step in; I guess they knew they'd be sorry.

"Quit staring at me," I spat. "You're pissing me off." Then I stormed off into the hallway, ignoring the slightly shocked looks of the greasers behind me.

I leaned against the wall and put my head back for a while. Even though Ponyboy had been distracting me for those few minutes that I had been across the room, I had finished the story. But I didn't feel like reading it just yet, so I waited a little while for the feeling to come back into me; the calm, happy feeling that I needed for the story to do anything.

Even after I had waited half an hour, I still wasn't calmed down enough to read out loud. I sat down and tried to focus on something else, take my mind off of that idiot in the waiting room who so desperately wanted to annoy me. The dumb ass who had made sure I didn't fall off the couch. The freak who had been there when I needed his help to find my brother. My brother . . .

Where was Matt? I had forgotten about him with helping Dally, and I didn't know why or how I could forget about him so easily. He was the only family I had here, and if we were ever going to get back, he had to be with me. I couldn't get along without him here, although I had done pretty well so far; but how long would that last? He'd said it himself when almost as soon as we'd gotten here: _"I'm older than you, I'm smarter than you, and I can take care of myself better than you." _I hadn't thought that was fair at the time; I was the one who went roaming all over creation all the time and getting jumped twice as much, not him. But _he'd _been out with me sometimes, and I'd never gotten jumped then. Maybe it was because he was the older brother, and he was a lot bigger than I was, so people were afraid to mess with him. But, hell, if that was the case, it didn't make him any better at taking care of himself than me.

But still, he kept me safe. Most of the time.

I just wanted my brother back.

I didn't notice someone sit down beside me this time until they put their arm around me, and I didn't jump for some reason. It was Darry. His arm was comforting and strong, and it held me together. Maybe that was why.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. That "better not provoke her" crap was probably what he was aiming for. Oh well. I didn't feel provoked, and I didn't think I would get that way, either. I had calmed down from the thing with Ponyboy.

"I think so," I answered shakily. Oh, yes, I had gotten over Pony, but Matt still hung fresh in my mind.

"What happened back there?" Darry inquired, still softly. Now, _that _was what would set me off, save the other garbage.

"I don't know; maybe you should ask your brother," I snapped.

He decided to change the subject. "How'd you find Dally?"

"Ponyboy said that Matt hadn't been in at all and I went looking for him. Pony just decided to tag along. I guess he didn't think I could take care of myself," I sighed. "We got in this big fight about that, and he ended up turning around and going back home. Don't be mad at him," I said quickly, noticing the "Oh my gosh, how could he?" look on Darry's face. "I was being a defensive little wretch, myself. Anyway, I got to soc territory"--I saw his face this time, too, but decided not to comment--"and I saw him. Then I called an ambulance." I shrugged, as if to lighten the mood.

He looked a little confused and asked, "How'd you find an ambulance?"

I smirked. "Let's just say that maybe those socs should learn not to leave their prey so close to a pay phone."

We looked at each other for a minute, then started laughing hysterically. It wasn't that funny, really, but things had been so upsetting and confusing lately that a person just _needed _to have a good laugh.

"From that show you two put on in that waiting room," he said, still laughing, "I don't think he needed to have worried about you taking care of yourself."

"Yeah," I answered, then told him about how I got jumped all the time back home. He looked a little shocked, but I ignored it and told him it was all okay, really. Darry seemed to accept that, but grudgingly.

After we'd calmed down, I leaned into Darry, and he kept his arm wrapped comfortingly around me. "I miss my brother," I whispered, and I almost couldn't stop the tears from coming. But I did. I couldn't let myself look vulnerable, even though that was the only thing I thought I could feel. All the same, Darry kept his arm around me, whispering in my ear that it would be okay.

I believed it. It was the only thing I had left to hang onto.

Hope.

**A/N: I'm actually pretty satisfied with this chapter. I'd love to hear your comments, though. Were there too many things going on in this chapter? Should I have broken it down into maybe two chapters instead of put it all together into one? Were Darry and Hayden too corny? I didn't plan on having Hayden fall in love with any of the greasers, but it looks like that's where it's heading with Ponyboy. I'm trying my best to think up something to stop it. Maybe they could just become really good friends. That's probably what I'll do. Okay, I'm rambling, so I'm just gonna stop . . . Be sure to tell me what you think! 'Cause you know that review button is **_**so **_**pretty.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Holy frig, it's been a long time. I'm really sorry, guys, but high school's been a pain in the patooty. Hehe. I finally found time to write this, and if it's corny to you, I'm sorry. You should be glad you're even getting an update.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, Inkheart, or 7th Heaven. I do own Hayden Camden.**

"Dallas lay on his starch-white hospital bed in silent agony. His chest was on fire and his wrist might as well have just fallen off; he couldn't even feel it anymore. He tried to roll over, but when he did so, the pain in his chest seared to its peak of discomfort, and Dallas immediately dropped back onto the bed, flat on his back. He tried not to let it show that he was in utter misery, but his facial expression, contorted in pain, and his constant unvoluntary moans of pain gave it all away. Dallas, to put it quite frankly, was living in hell."

I had gotten over my little spat with Ponyboy and Darry had calmed me down. I sat in the hospital hallway with my knees supporting the paper with the life-saving words on it as I read under my breath. Imagine the looks I would have gotten if I had read out loud!

As much as I hated him, I had to do something. I wasn't going to let him suffer and possibly die, knowing I could have done something about it.

"A nurse walked in just then, with an odd, pinched expression as if she was smelling something exceedingly foul. She looked to be about sixty, at least. _Probably can't stand a greaser in her hospital room_, Dallas thought bitterly. Just as he had told Hayden, the hospitals in nineteen-sixty-six Tulsa, Oklahoma, were, in fact, 'biased freaks,' as she had put it. This nurse proved it, no questions asked. Even Hayden couldn't deny that.

"'So, you're awake, finally,' the pinched-face nurse declared sourly. 'Need anything?' she added, not sounding like she really meant it.

"Dallas didn't take anything from anyone, even if he really needed it. Well, except for the help Hayden had given him that same day. But was it the same day? How much time had passed? He didn't care if the woman didn't want to help him; he needed this information. 'How long have I been out?' he asked, sounding a little too eager for his taste. But he ignored it.

"'About ten hours. They beat the shit out of you earlier today; don't worry, a year hasn't passed,' she answered sarcastically. This woman was really beginning to piss him off, but he repressed it, because he knew that if he wanted to get anything else out of her he'd have to keep cool.

"'Oh,' he replied simply, trying to regain his composure before he backhanded that cocky bitch. 'What's wrong with me?'

"She laughed without humor, probably thinking of what snide comment to make about what was _really _wrong with him, in her opinion, but she must have had a little sense, because she backed off and answered his question seriously. 'You've got a gash in your chest, right down the middle of your ribcage. You're lucky they didn't stick that knife through some ribs and puncture something. And you wrist is broken. Almost torn off.'

"Dallas suppressed a groan and flopped back down. The motion made his chest sear with pain, but he ignored it. _At least I'm alive, _he thought bitterly, not really taking anything related to thanks from this thought.

"'So, do you need anything?' She was back to her cocky, conceited self who hated greasers. Dallas didn't care anymore. He just looked at her with pure hatred and sorrow, and she took that as his answer. She left, but before she stepped out the door she turned around and said, 'My name's Helen, by the way. Ask for me if you ever need anything. This _is _the room I'm assigned to.' More nastiness. This time, she didn't turn back, but flounced out with a very impudent air that Dallas hated.

"So no one really cared. No one except that little fourteen-year-old girl who he couldn't stand. He knew Hayden didn't like him, either, but she was better than just to leave him lying on the side of the road like he had been. Anyone else, except for the gang, would have ignored him and went about their merry way. And for that, he found an ounce of respect for the kid. She had a heart, after all.

"Dallas gave up trying to understand the world and its problems and looked under his covers to see what his stitches looked like. _Oh, blast it, _he thought when he lifted the sheet, _they put one of those stupid paper dresses on me. _But he wasn't really all that riveted by it. He had too many other things on his mind. His burning chest, for one thing, and his throbbing wrist was killing him. But the biggest thing was that he felt that no one except the person he despised, and she in turn despised him, really cared. He had never let that bother him before, but for some reason, now it got to him that he didn't have any decent parents to worry about him like the Curtises used to. It was a real crying shame they had to die, and he meant it, for the Curtis parents were as close to anything comparable to a real parent that Dallas had ever had.

"He just wanted someone to care. He had it, but he didn't really realize it."

I was done, surprised that it took such a short time to read all of that. I looked at the clock. Before it had said 11:52 p.m., and now it said 11:54 p.m. Only two minutes. I realized that I had been writing in sentence fragments and using conjunctions for the beginnings of sentences, but I felt that it made the story all that more realistic to have a few grammatical errors in it.

I went back to the waiting room, and to Ponyboy's surprise and possibly everyone elses', I plopped down next to him and let him put his arm around me. He wasn't being immature this time; just comforting and understanding, and for that I thanked him. I was sick of being treated like a little brat that didn't know anything and was so opinionated that she wouldn't listen to anyone who had a view that differed even slightly from hers. I needed someone to just love me and let me rant tonight, and refrain from contradicting me for my own sake.

Everyone looked horrible. Darry looked even more tired than usual, and that was hard to watch. The man already had to work so hard, including the next day. Two-Bit had lost his comical ways and sat solemnly in the blue plastic chair that was reserved for family members and friends who were so desperate for information about their loved one it made you almost sick with grief for them. His gray eyes were flat and lifeless for once, and that was scary. Sodapop wasn't much better; his brown eyes, instead of being emotionless like Two-Bit's, were full of sorrow and fear. He was slumped in an almost broken way in one of those same plastic blue chairs. Stever sat forward with his head resting on his fists, an expression of angry definance plastered on his face. His brow was creased, and lines of worry were engraved into his forehead. Johnny, who I had really noticed for the first time that night, was sitting bolt upright in his seat, a look of pure horror on his starch-white face. I felt sorry for him, and I knew he saw it, for when he looked at me, his brow lowered a fraction in the middle, and I knew he didn't want my pity. But I gave it to him anyway; I wanted to let him know that someone cared.

"You okay?" Ponyboy asked warily, apparently not wanting to start another fight.

"Yeah, I'm decent," I replied with a dry smile. He flashed his teeth at me and then his face was grim once again. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I asked, "You haven't heard anything at all about my brother, have you?"

He looked down at me sorrowfully, and I almost lost it. "No," he answered forlornly, but I already knew what he was going to say from the way his face looked. I sighed and put my head on his shoulder. I wasn't trying to be romantic or anything, and I was glad that Ponyboy wasn't taking it like that. He just held me and let me sleep, leaning on him, until he shook me awake when the doctor came in.

All at once, I got nervous, excited, and tense, and Ponyboy looked at me quizzically. I ignored him and tried to listen to what the doctor was saying, hardly hearing him over the beating of my own heart. If I had read correctly, then Dally would be fine, but if I made even the slightest mistake, whether it be stumbling over a word or forgetting a vital sentence, he could be doomed. I meant that in the most literal way possible.

The doctor was male, with brown hair and a tall, scrawny figure. I was silently praying that he would give good news, because I could bet without personal experience that Steve would beat the tar out of him without a second thought if he didn't like what he heard. That doc would end up on his own operating table, as Dally had said in the book.

"You're here for Dallas Winston?" he inquired in a low, gravelly voice that seemed too masculine for his appearance. When Darry nodded, the doctor went on: "I think he'll be fine. He's got a badly broken wrist; it looked to me like whoever jumped him almost ripped it off. He has a deep gash right down the middle of his rib cage, but we managed to sew it up pretty efficiently. He's lucky they didn't stick that knife or whatever they used between his ribs and puncture something."

I breathed a long, loud sigh of relief that all my plans had worked out. The doc was even quoting my story! I didn't think I was _that _good, but maybe I'd gotten more talented since Matt and I had arrived in Tulsa. Weird things had been happening lately.

Some of the gang turned to look at me inquisitively, but I didn't give anything away. I trusted them, but not enough to tell them about my little "talent."

"You can go in to see him now if you want," the doc added. "He's awake."

There was a sound of the metal legs of the plastic waiting room chairs being scraped across the tiled floor as the boys scrambled up out of their seats and followed the doctor down the hallway, never falling father behind than about four inches from his heels.

I followed more slowly, afraid of what Dallas would say when he saw me.

**A/N: I did all this in one sitting. Man, I was on a roll! I hope you like it. If it's short, I'm sorry, but this is what I came up with, and I think it's pretty okay. Please tell me what you thought was corny, what was wonderful, and what I seriously need to change. And please, don't tell me I don't need to change anything, because there's always room for improvement. A good reviewer answers the writer's questions respectfully and truthfully, whether they think they'll offend them or not. And please, don't care what I think about your opinions unless you're just outright hating on me. I love you guys and your uplifting reviews, so please, keep it up!**


	10. Chapter 10

This is an author's note concerning the continuance of this story.

I will _not _be deleting it. It will merely be put on hold for a while due to some _very _constructive criticism I received. I will be rewriting parts of it, due to lack of structure and sense, frankly. Since I tend to just jump right into the plot (I'm impatient, people, and I hope you can see that by now), this is why there is none of the above statements. I realize that the characters I've created and the ones S.E. Hinton created have become sort of OOC, so I'll be working hard to correct that. I'll most likely finish the story before I update after this.

Just sit tight, relax, and prepare to wait _a lot. _Don't worry--this is _not_ the last of me.

Regards,

Jennifer

P.S. This author's note will be deleted as soon as I can get my act together and finish this thing.


End file.
